Chapter 344: Order, How Much Longer

Chapter 344 Order, How Much Longer

Order...

Karen lowered his head, staring into the dark abyss below.

He had a premonition that buried within this abyss lay a true secret, one highly likely related to why the gods had not appeared since this era began.

This premonition was so incredibly powerful that even Karen himself found it absurd.

At this moment, as Karen lay on his bedroom bed, the golden imprint on the back of his hand began to surface.

Within the dream, Karen also perceived the burning sensation on the back of his hand.

He knew that the reason he was having this dream was because he had "seen" the Scythe of War, a top-tier, pristine divine artifact.

The divine could not be looked upon directly.

When you witnessed it and established some form of connection with it, even if it had no intention toward you, its trace would inevitably be left upon your body.

This was a phenomenon that transcended the level of psychological suggestion; describing it as a "brand" was actually far more accurate.

It was just that a slight complication had arisen in his case. For anyone else, it would be nothing more than having nightmares of being killed by the Scythe of War for a period of time, but due to the various eccentricities inherent to his body, it dragged out new transformations.

The simplest aspect was his physical vessel, which, having undergone Ranyedal's modification, possessed a connection to the "divine" and was naturally capable of seeing more.

Karen lifted his foot, desiring to step into the black abyss before him to attempt to pursue the truth of the secret.

This state of mind resembled that of a gambler looking at the bottom of a card about to be revealed, the concept of winning or losing already vanished from his mind, seeking only a sense of release.

Yet, just as that foot was about to descend, it paused.

Karen gritted his teeth as the cautious nature originating from the depths of his soul once again regained the upper hand at this juncture.

Concurrently, a wave of cold sweat erupted from his body.

Why did I have such a thought?

What does the truth of the secret have to do with the current me anyway? What impact could it possibly have whether I know it beforehand or not?

Rational thoughts quickly flooded in, dispersing the mysterious sensibility that had previously arisen from nowhere and nearly dominated his mind.

Karen bent over, gasping heavily for breath, his gaze toward the abyss ahead carrying a touch of dread and lingering fear.

Was this a bewitchment? Or... losing oneself?

Just like the demonic voice the Captain had once faced from that bloodthirsty Aberrant ancestor?

It could stimulate all kinds of thoughts within your heart to achieve a purpose belonging to it.

"Phew..."

Karen exhaled heavily and straightened his body once more. Had it been his former self, that step might have already been taken earlier, but the current him, having undergone the tempering of the final selection, had completed his self-review, and no longer possessed vulnerabilities in his state of mind.

Yet even so, he had still been influenced; this was truly terrifying.

"Gurgle... Gurgle... Gurgle..."

The abyss began to spit out black bubbles, the bursting of each bubble seemingly representing a horrific scene, wherein countless people were slaughtering, shouting, screaming, and wailing.

Karen immediately reached out to press his forehead, not daring to look directly at these bubbles any longer, feeling as though his soul, which he had always taken pride in, would be blasted to capacity by these images.

But even without looking, the sound of bubbles bursting constantly drifted to his ears, and even though

Sitting in silence for a good while longer, Cullen finally felt his consciousness and senses gradually drifting back into his body.

Why was everything red?

A flicker of confusion crossed his mind. He held up his hands, only to find his palms stained a vivid, bloody crimson.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and the scarlet veil obscuring his vision began to smudge away.

Yet when he lowered his head, he discovered the bedsheets beneath him had already been dyed a stark red by his own blood.

A sudden fit of coughing seized him. With every racked breath, it felt as though his vital organs were being violently wrenched, sending sharp waves of agony through his torso.

In that moment, Cullen wanted nothing more than to lie back down and surrender to sleep. He knew well enough that a single night’s rest would ease these symptoms, perhaps even banish them entirely.

But just as he sank halfway back down,

He caught sight of the ruined, filthy sheets, and realized how utterly soiled he himself was.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced himself out of bed and dragged his desperately weak, exhausted frame into the washroom.

Turning on the tap above the basin, Cullen scooped up the water and splashed it repeatedly over his face, the icy shock swiftly cooling his feverish consciousness.

After a long while, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was hollow and deeply haggard.

He looked down at the back of his hand, where the mark resided. To his surprise, the skin there had turned a charred, ruined black—yet even amidst the blackened flesh, the silhouette of the brand remained sharply, unmistakably visible.

Cullen knew, however, that the ordeal he had just survived had only been triggered by this mark.

As for what exactly had played the decisive role—violently twisting an ordinary nightmare of being slaughtered by a scythe into a desperate, harrowing plea for help—Cullen remained in the dark. The hidden talismans and burdens he carried on his person were simply too numerous.

Having washed his face, Cullen inspected himself and found that the bleeding had finally ceased.

He walked to the bedroom door, swung it open, and rapped his knuckles against the wall.

"Captain?"

Ventura, who slept on the second floor, had left his bedroom door ajar. Hearing the disturbance, he responded instantly and hurried downstairs. The sight of Cullen in such a state gave him a visible fright.

"Captain, what happened to you?"

"It is over now."

Seeing that Ventura was down, Cullen retraced his steps into the washroom to take a shower and change into a fresh bathrobe. By the time he staggered back out, he found that the sheets, duvet covers, and every other piece of bedding in his room had been replaced with clean ones. Ventura must have brought down the linens from his own quarters to change them.

"Captain, should I go fetch a doctor?"

"No need."

Cullen sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Captain, the way you looked just now... it was exactly how I looked as a child whenever the corruption flared up. Were you also affected by..."

"I am not susceptible to..."

Cullen caught himself.

This body of his was immune to most forms of corruption. But if the entity knocking at the door from within that abyss did not belong to the category of "most forms," but was instead war itself...

Could it be that his body and soul's violent reaction just now was actually his system actively rejecting the corruption?

If he were an ordinary man, would he have been entirely corrupted by now?

No, if he were an ordinary man, he likely would never have had the chance to be targeted by such corruption in the first place.

Proppping his forehead in his hand, Cullen felt a dull ache throb through his temples.

"Captain, you should rest."

"Mm."

Maintaining that posture, Cullen leaned back against the headboard and drifted off to sleep.

He woke several times throughout the night, finding Ventura still sitting vigil beside him each time. Cullen would ask for the hour, his sleep fractured into intermittent blocks, waking every twenty minutes or half an hour.

Eventually, however, he sank into a deep, uninterrupted slumber.

When Cullen finally awoke, it was already late in the afternoon.

Ventura was still seated on the floor, holding a glass of milk and a piece of bread in his hands.

Cullen got out of bed, stretched his limbs, and assessed his condition. Though a lingering fatigue weighed on him, both his body and soul were largely unharmed.

"Captain, how are you feeling?"

"I am fine now. What of today's lessons?"

"Ah, it's like this. Muri's squad didn't finish until noon, so today's scheduled training has been postponed until tomorrow."

"Understood."

"Captain, shall I prepare some food for you? Oh, and the others don't know about what happened to you last night. They've all gone to the base training grounds to familiarize themselves with the implements. Do you want me to call them back now?"

Cullen glanced back at the clock on the nightstand. It was past four in the afternoon.

"Never mind. We will dine together once their training concludes. I have matters to discuss then. As for what transpired last night, it is enough that you alone know."

"Yes, Captain, I understand." Ventura turned to leave, but as if recalling something else, he paused and looked back. "Captain, there is one more thing. A logistics director from the base hotel disguised himself as a waiter today, knocked on the door, and handed me a business card."

"Oh? For what purpose?"

"He must have noticed that we've been ordering tobacco and alcohol every single day lately. He offered to buy them back directly from us at an eighty-five percent discount of the Merit Point Shop prices. What do you think?"

Generally speaking, goods sold on the black market were always heavily discounted; after all, if it were not cheap, who would bother buying from the black market?

Of course, certain strictly controlled substances were exceptions, but tobacco and alcohol clearly did not fall into that category.

"Call him, then, and have him come over tonight to collect the goods."

"Understood, Captain."

...

The training base possessed its own dining hall, where Muri's squad usually took their meals, but Cullen's squad still preferred to gather in their captain's room to dine.

Once everyone had assembled, Cullen emerged from his bedroom. He had changed into a fresh set of divine robes, looking no different than he had the day before.

Aisly and Blanche had both just showered, and since Sant Antis was a tropical coastal city, the two young women were dressed in rather light, airy attire.

Mars wore a short-sleeved shirt, while Bart wore a sleeveless undershirt, revealing bronzed skin that made him look like a laborer hauling sacks at the docks to scratch out a living.

Taking a seat on the sofa, Cullen spoke, "How did the afternoon training go?"

Aisly replied as she peeled a shrimp and popped it into her mouth, "Captain, the time is still too short. I feel like I need much more of it."

Mars nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Captain. The time allotted to familiarize ourselves is simply insufficient."

Bart, however, seemed entirely unconcerned. "It doesn't matter. No one even knows if we will use them once we pass through the Gate of Samsara. Besides, our squad will basically be joining the Captain's Whip of Order squad afterward. We will have plenty of time to train and run drills together in the future."

"Yes, there is truly no rush. There will be plenty of time later," Blanche chimed in, using the opportunity to devein a peeled shrimp and place it gently onto the dining plate before Cullen.

Seeing this, Aisly immediately peeled one of her own and offered it as well.

Mars reached for a shrimp too, but Bart nudged him with an elbow, muttering, "Alright, alright, you don't need to join in on the peeling."

Observing the reactions of his crew, Cullen felt a wave of satisfaction.

"There is something I must tell you all," he began. "As you heard yesterday, these implements of war will eventually be delivered into our hands via teleportation scrolls once we are inside the Gate of Samsara."

"Yet, upon our emergence from the Gates of Reincarnation, these apparatuses will essentially remain behind.

Thus, those charming giants of playthings you familiarized yourselves with this afternoon shall vanish from your grasp the very moment you step clear of the gates."

The words fell, plunged into an absolute, breathless silence.

It was as though a band of youths, having finally laid hands on the motorcars of grown men, imbibed their spirits, and drawn from their tobacco—fancifully believing they had crossed the threshold of adulthood—were suddenly struck by a sobering slap, realizing they were naught but children after all.

"Then my repeating crossbow..."

"My formation veil..."

"My cage of confinement..."

"Well, I must ask, whose family among you possesses the means to finance the private purchase of a wartime apparatus?"

Eyes darted through the silence, gaze meeting gaze, while Ventura kept his head lowered, silently chewing his flatbread.

No one spoke.

Wartime apparatuses were expensive, exceedingly so, and a principal reason for this lay in their strict regulation.

Though they were displayed and priced within the voucher shops of the various grand districts to stabilize the currency's value, the upper echelons harbored no desire to see them enter wide circulation.

Consequent to this, their pricing was inflated to an exorbitant degree.

The wartime apparatuses rationed to the Knights Templar possessed an actual manufacturing cost perhaps a mere tenth of the price demanded at the external voucher shops; naturally, one could not tally the expense by raw materials alone, for it encompassed the intellectual and labor costs of research, development, forging, carving, and array formation across every discipline.

Nevertheless, that the price was artificially bloated remained indisputable; after all, the Church of Order had no wish to see the remnants of the Light emerging one day to wreak havoc with magic crystal cannons.

Furthermore, there existed an inescapable hurdle: even if someone present belonged to a family capable of securing a discounted rate—or even acquiring structurally intact apparatuses written off under the guise of scrap from the Knights Templar—such an operation was unfeasible here.

For these were not intended as collector's pieces; they were meant for active deployment.

Once the Whiplash of Order squad was established as the vanguard of reform, it would inevitably draw immense scrutiny. When the wartime apparatuses were deployed during missions, they would instantly be exposed with no hope of concealment, demanding a meticulous account of their lineage.

The Church of Order was unlike the Church of Reincarnation, where royal lineages and grand clans could eclipse the heavens with a single hand. The primary objective of this current reform was precisely to fragment and suppress the familial factions within the faith; no family would be so foolish as to hand the Holy See a blade to use against them at such a juncture.

Seeing that the blow had been sufficiently dealt, Karen spoke: "It matters not. Once our Whiplash of Order squad is formed, we can accelerate our pace in executing missions and earning vouchers. I trust that before long, we shall purchase those large playthings you grew fond of today right back from the voucher shop. We might even afford far superior ones.

This sense of management and accumulation is rather more intriguing, is it not?"

"The Captain speaks truly!"

"The Captain speaks truly!"

Just then, the doorbell chimed. Ventura rose to open it, and a plump, fair-skinned steward stepped inside, immediately bowing to the assembly upon seeing the crowded room.

Ventura opened two suitcases, allowing him to conduct an inventory.

Karen noted that Ventura had likely summoned Muri’s squad’s allocation of tobacco and alcohol as well today; otherwise, the volume could not possibly be this immense.

The boy’s aptitude for learning such matters was remarkably sharp.

Once these goods were reclaimed, they would reappear in the inventory of the base hotel's warehouse, purchased at the original procurement cost.

When the items were packed and the steward handed a thick stack of Order vouchers to Ventura, preparing to turn and depart, Karen spoke.

"Please wait a moment."

"Ah? Is there anything else you require, sir?" The steward’s demeanor was exceptionally deferential.

Karen gestured toward the lavish spread on the dining cart and inquired, "Is this the highest tier of dining available to us?"

"Yes, it is the absolute pinnacle of the specifications allotted to your rank."

"Then from tomorrow onward, simply deliver light meals to us, and convert the difference into vouchers."